


A Beautiful World

by mahanon_lavellan



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bloodplay, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Slow Burn, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4946638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahanon_lavellan/pseuds/mahanon_lavellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lone Wanderer Yves hasn't given up on being good. Vance hasn't given up on making himself into a better man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He kicks around the concept a little bit, the words sitting in between the words. Vance tells Yves about his nature, how it's resisted, transformed, changing his inhuman lusts into the rather benign desire to drink blood packs. They are hard to come by, but better than the alternative. He tells Yves that he is safe, here, with the Family. It could be his family too, if he wanted. Vance could teach him. His hand skims down Yves' arm.

Yves isn't so sure. 

He kicks around the soot on the floor and says he'll spend the night, at least. But then he's got errands in the morning. Agatha has a list for him. Running his palm over his black hair, he resists the urge to pull at it. It's started coming out in fistfuls. But when he checks his pipboy for his rad count, everything looks okay. So it's not that.

Vance looks pleased that he's staying.

"Just the night."

"Of course."

The Meresti Station isn't exactly what Yves would pick for himself. But, after nineteen years below ground, one more night isn't going to kill him. Besides, it's dry and clean and there are lots of Family members around. Sleeping here is probably a good idea. A great one. Better than having to keep one eye open in a cramped utility shed somewhere further down the tunnel, listening for ferals and sleeping cold, alone.

Yves tries not to think about how long he's been alone now. Awhile.

Vance smiles at him, pats him on the shoulder and points him in the direction of available cots. While there are still plenty of Family members up and about, Yves admits he's tired as heck. It'll be nice to curl up and sleep. The hum of other people's voices going about their evenings might even be nice.

He tries not to think about how Vance's hand sits on his shoulder, still. Or how he smells, standing quite so close. Yves swallows, thanking Vance for his hospitality, real swell.

When he gets to the narrow cot, Yves kicks off his shoes, tucking them under the bed frame, but decides against removing anything else. There are a couple of knives tucked into his leather armor. Those he pulls out, sticking the blades into his boots. Vance did say he'd be safe.

He lays on his back, running his eyes along the pipes that line the station ceiling. The room will stay bright all night. The vault was like that too, so Yves doesn't mind so much. He curls his hands into fists in the clean sheets. He wonders what other people's blood might taste like in his mouth. The lives of other people. Whether they would be more bitter or sweet than his own.

Of all the flavors he's known, he thinks his life might be sour. What would it be like for someone else to taste? Could Vance tell him?

But it's short lived, these thoughts. Because Yves gets nauseous. Not thinking about the blood, but thinking what his dad would say about him drinking blood. Whether his dad would call him dirty, disgusting, vile. He doesn't know. And he wants to stop thinking about his dad too.

Sleep nearly reaches him by the time footsteps approach, sure against the floor. Leaning over the cot, right into his face, is Vance. Smiling, asking if everything is alright. 

Yves chokes out, "yes." 

Vance doesn't touch him, this time. Yves kind of wishes he would. He wishes Vance would squeeze into the cot next to him, speak about lives wasted and regained through sacrifice. Yves can relate to sacrifice. And then, when he's all done talking, Yves wishes Vance would put his mouth to his flesh, and come away knowing the things Yves can't say aloud.

\--

Yves wakes warm and dry. It's pleasant. His leather armor holds his insides in, tight around his body. He's forgotten where he is...oh, right. Meresti, The Family.

Slipping his shoes back on, he pockets his knives as well, the blade cold, still sort of unfamiliar, against his skin. Others go in external pockets. He tries to keep quiet as he gets ready. Most of the Family are in bed now. He doesn't wish to disturb them. Retracing his steps from yesterday, he finds the communal bathroom. Though the whole station is lit up, it's even brighter in here, with the lights and mirrors reflecting off of clean-scrubbed surfaces. It makes his olive skin look sallow.

He splashes water on his face, trying to wipe away the sheen of sweat he always gets when sleeping. The water helps, a little. Pushing around his hair, trying to look presentable. He's pretty sure he's failing. Even though he knows it's vain, and vanity is a sin, Yves likes his eyes. Greta, at the Museum, said they look like stormclouds. Yves asked her to tell him all about storms.

When he looks up again, having scrubbed his face a second time, Vance has come in, shirtless and smiling. His slacks sit low on his hips without a belt. Yves wishes he had an excuse to put his head back under water. 

"Are you sure you're heading out today?" Vance asks. "We have the room. And I'm sure we can find you something to eat? If you don't wish to partake."

Gosh, he's just being so kind about it. Puts Yves' stomach in knots. His eyes flicker down, he doesn't mean for them to, and he can see the jut of Vance's hipbones. Really, he can see a whole lot of skeleton through pale skin. Vance is tall and lean and on a different sort of level from most of the men Yves has encountered in the Wastes. Or maybe he’s not and it’s all in Yves’ head. But he smells clean too, and his nails are cut short, and there’s a whole list of things Yves notices.

"I'm supposed to help Agatha," he blurts out, trying to cover up his staring with something, anything. "She'd like for me to go to this vault, find her this violin.” 

He trying to put words together and put his eyes somewhere appropriate. Vance just keeps smiling, ruffling the back of his hair with one hand. His elbow is real pointy. Yves is acutely aware of how much time he’s started eating up with his babbling, but his tongue has already gotten away.

“I’m going to Vault 92 and it’s pretty far off. So I should get started while it’s still early and not dark.” He tugs at the straps of his armor. “So, yes, I should be doing that, going.”

“Well, alright then.” Vance puts out his hand for Yves to shake. He does so, maybe too strongly. Vance smiles at that too. “Remember, you’re always welcome here.”

Yves nods. He’s still holding Vance’s hand.


	2. Chapter 2

He hates the way the mirelurks scream as they die. But setting off the noise flushes keeps him from having to fight the beasts face to face. He hates how they almost look like people too, standing upright, with faces and claws. 

Yves activates the flush again, waiting for the screaming to die down. His pants are soaked from the water on the lower levels. They cling to his legs and weigh him down, but he doesn’t have a spare set. He left most of his pack by the entrance so he could move faster.

To find the violin, he reads through the terminal entries, his gut twisting as the story comes to him in bits and pieces. He’s known now, for awhile, what the vaults really are. Sick experiments built on human flesh, playing God. Though his dad is gone now, and there’s nothing he can do about it, Yves wonders if his father knew too. If he knew what he was drafting himself and Yves into by going underground. If his dad really thought it was better for them.

Something falls off of a shelf behind him and rattles Yves terribly. His hands start shaking. Really, though, it’s not the tin can, or whatever, that fell, but the prospect of ‘the subject’ taking twenty bullets before dying. The fact that taking twenty bullets to kill them was considered a success. 

Yves pretends the mirelurk corpses are not corpses, just debris, as he makes his way to the music room. He’s taken the time to plot out the route on his pipboy map. No more diversions. With the mirelurks gone, the vault is silent other than his footsteps. 

Inside the music room is like another world. A quiet, serene one.The room is labeled ‘sound testing,’ but that sounds too sterile. Once, it was beautiful in here.

He’s read the terminals, so he knows who the skeletons against the wall are. Undisturbed for almost two-hundred years, they’ve lain in wait. The bones of their hands still clasped together, the larger frame in front of the smaller one, trying to protect her from the deranged residents that butchered them in induced rage. 

Yves kneels in front of the bodies, crosses his fingers over his chest. He feels like he should do more, but he’s not sure what. 

The violin case is there, Soil Stradivarius. He tries saying it outloud, like Agatha did, “Soli Stradivarius.” It feels weird in his mouth. He doesn’t dare open the case here, where it may be too damp or too cold or too anything. Once he’s outside, he’ll check. When he lifts up the case, it feels heavy enough that he knows there’s something inside.

One other thing grabs his attention, though. The piano against the wall. There’s no way, after all this time, it could be in tune. And it’s not like Yves knows how to play. Back home, he would pretend though, mashing together sounds he could make with his pipboy and tapping out rhythms on his desk with his pen. He doesn’t know, he likes to pretend that other different circumstances, he could have played.

He puts his finger against one key, the one that is supposed to be middle C. It sounds all sour. But he presses the next one up in tone, then the next, and the next. Somehow it’s very pretty, even if to pre-war ears, the sounds would have been ugly. 

\--

In exchange for the violin, Agatha gives him a gun. Yves doesn’t want it, but she won’t take no for an answer. 

“What’s an old woman like me going to do with it?” she smiles. “You’re always putting yourself in danger, sweet boy. You should have the best to protect yourself. And my husband always thought that gun was the best.”

Yves doesn’t want to appear ungrateful, so he finally shoves the gun into the bottom of his pack. 

Agatha asks him to stay for dinner, he looks like he could use it. He won’t refuse that, at least.

But with his stomach full, Yves tells Agatha he should be going. She smiles and asks him about what adventure he has planned next, the intrepid Angel of the Wastes. He’s given up on correcting people, saying that he’s no angel. That it’s blasphemous to call him one. 

“Ah, I guess I’ll head back to Megaton.” He does not yet realize he’s lying, so he hopes to be forgiven.

\--

Instead of Megaton, Yves tracks back to Meresti. It isn’t even really intentional, only that it’s later in the evening than he thought it was, he won’t get very far heading home. He’ll have to stop in a couple of hours anyway and it’s safer to be with others than all alone in a shack along the road. And Vance did say he was welcome, that he wouldn’t be a bother. 

The Family members greet him quietly. They’re a little less suspicious now, almost warm. But he’s still an outsider who knows their secret but doesn’t share it. So maybe it makes sense that they wouldn’t be quite so open. 

He leaves his pack by the same cot he used last time, confident no one will rifle through his things.

Hands tucked into his pockets, he looks for Vance. It’s only polite to tell him that he’s here. Even if it’s only for the night, again. And then he’ll be gone in the morning. There’s still more work to be done. Always. Maybe, one day, Yves will find the right task to make him feel whole again. Like he’s living up to his father’s legacy. He hopes that day is soon.

Not finding him in the common areas, Yves goes down the hall to Vance’s room. The door is mostly closed and he’s not sure if he should knock. It is open a little though, so maybe it’s okay. Instead of knocking, he settles on just telling Vance he’s here.

“Um, hi, it’s Yves?” 

He can hear rustling inside the room, someone getting up. The door swings open, Vance on the other side, dressed in a tee and some jeans. His duster is thrown over the back of his desk chair. He’s got that smile on too, warm, welcoming. 

“Good to see you!” he’s so sincere about it. Yves thinks it nice to be wanted. “Staying with us tonight?”

“Yes,” Yves sighs in relief, not having to explain further. 

“Good, good, have you eaten?”

At the mention of food, Yves tries not to think about the blood circulating through his own body. But he trusts Vance. No one here will hurt him. They’ve controlled their desires. Vance has made them pure, found a solution where for so long there didn’t seem like a possible one. 

“Ah, yes, I have.”

“Are you tired now? I mean, it’s still early, but I know with your schedule?”

Yves already feels flustered under his armor and nothing has happened. What does he think is going to happen? Just, he likes how Vance smiles and smells. He can admit that much. That there are flashes behind his storm-eyes of Vance’s hands on him. That they would be sweet and warm like his expression and words. That he would take it slowly, telling Yves it’s okay, it’s okay to want. His God won’t hate him.

“No, I’m not tried. It was just getting dark.”

“Come in, then, let me show you something,” Vance steps away from the doorframe, letting Yves inside.

His private room is tidy, with books stacked into neat piles, a safe in the corner. His bed is made, starched clean. There is a light on the desk too, and a pen. Vance has been writing. 

“You can read, right?” Vance asks him.

“Yes,” Yves sometimes forgets that Wasteland education can be uneven. He’s met some amazingly intelligent people. Smarter than he could ever hope to be. But they couldn’t read or write. Others seem like they’ve read every book ever written. There’s no pattern to it, so it’s better not to assume.

Vance gathers up his papers from his desk. He motions for Yves to sit on the bed. There’s only one chair in the room. They sit side by side, the mattress sinking under their weight. Vance hands him the stack of papers and explains.

“Can you let me know what you think? I want to make sure it sounds alright.”

His body is warm against Yves’, pressed ever so slightly together. Makes it hard to focus.

Though the paper feels like a thick stack, there isn’t that much written on each page. At the top of each page is one of Vance’s laws in bold letters. 

"Feast not on the flesh; consume only the blood. This is our strength." 

Yves has read them before, from one of the terminals. At first, they scared him. But now, he realizes that Vance is only trying to do right by his Family. That he wants what is best, not only for himself, but for them too.

Under each law are scribbles of words, other items crossed out, arrows pointing in every direction. Truth is, Yves’ can’t make out a damn thing. He shakes his head.

“What is it?”

Vance’s smile drops a little. “I know not all members of the Family believe as I do. They want to, they want to believe they can make themselves into better people. To conquer their urges and reassert their humanity, even if only by a fraction. They want those things, but they still find it hard to believe. I need to find a better way to appeal to them. To show them the way. They must find it in themselves to believe, but I can guide them. Only, I must find the right words.”

Yves’ breath catches in his chest. He aches on behalf of Vance’s sincerity. The papers are still in his lap, fingers grasping at the first page. He tries very hard to focus this time, to make the scribblings make sense. 

“Maybe I’m more tired than I thought,” Yves laughs a little, trying to brush off his confusion.

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s probably not clear. Not yet. Thank you for giving it a shot.” He takes the papers from Yves’ hands, sliding them away. Getting up, he deposits them back onto the desk.

Yves doesn’t move from his place at the edge of the bed. He leaves his fingers against the sheets. 

In that moment, with Vance turned away from him, Yves mind races. And he thinks of more than just smiles, gentle touches. It’s Vance’s body over his, in this bed, still whispering words of encouragement against Yves’ exposed neck, but he’s pinned and prone. His legs spread open and Vance between them. And he’s moving along his body with his hands, kissing Yves’ parted lips. His hands are tied but he’s not afraid. Yves just want to give, he wants to give himself over completely. 

When Vance turns around, he asks if Yves is alright, he looks flushed. 

“Do you feel ill?” Vance presses the back of his hand to Yves’ forehead, feeling his temperature. Oh, that only makes things worse. 

“No, I’m fine, I’m sure.” Yves worries that if he feigns illness, Vance will think he should stay longer, to recover. But he can’t. He’ll be found out. Vance probably doesn’t even look at men, not like Yves looks at men.

“Why don’t you stay here?”

Yves eyes go wide. 

“I can take one of the cots in the common room. It’s no trouble. You won’t be disturbed here.”

Grabbing hold of Vance’s wrist, Yves starts to protest. No, really, he shouldn’t put Vance out of his room. But on the other side of the coin, he wants to beg Vance to stay with him. To curl his body around Yves, put his lips at the back of his neck as they lay together, run his fingers against his stomach in their sleep.

“I’ll bring round your things?” Vance asks.

Yves can only mutely nod. 

\--

It’s not Vance who brings his bag, but Holly. She doesn’t come in, just passing over the pack. 

“I thought it would be heavier,” she says, making room for conversation.

“Yeah, I travel kind of light.” He worries his fingers over the fraying strap. 

She looks away, then back at Yves. “Listen, it’s not my business. Not really. But I see how you look at him. I see it because that used to be me. And I’m telling you, he’s not worth it.”

Yves wants to say something. To deny that he’s looking at Vance in some sort of way. But he can’t. “What do you mean?”

“Vance, he wants to be a good man. And that wanting, well, it prevents him from actually becoming one. A good man, that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if this is worth continuing. We'll see I guess


	3. Chapter 3

Yves' Megaton house is empty. Well, there's always Wadsworth. Humming in one corner, the robot perks up to greet him. 

"Master Suleiman!"

Yves flinches, because that doesn't feel like his name anymore. Not since his dad died. But he supposes that it is his name. And Wadsworth doesn't mean anything by it; he's only trying to be helpful. He gives the robot a quick wave.

"Hi there, Wadsworth. Is everything okay? Anything that needs my attention?"

Wadsworth floats over to him, extending one spidery limb to take Yves' bag. Yves goes about rummaging through the kitchen cabinets for something to eat. He's got plenty of tinned food. Enough to last him several lifetimes. He doesn't really like it, but the stuff the Wasters out here eat is even worse. Sticking to powdered cheese mix with his macaroni isn't so bad in comparison to eating molerat.

"Ms. West stopped by. She said thank you, and that you should come by to see her. She left a key to her home as well!"

"Oh," Yves tries not to think so hard about what that means. That he should 'come by.' He's not an idiot. Lucy showed some interest in him, even before. Still, the gesture makes his cheeks flush a little because he doesn't want to hurt her feelings or anything.

It takes about twenty minutes to make his meal and only about of forth of that to scarf it down. All that pasta makes him feel sort of drowsy after. He's been walking for two days too. Hard to sleep when you have to worry about feral ghouls and super mutants and giant radroaches and, gosh, well, everything. Everything out there seems to want to kill everything else.

Toeing off his shoes, Yves decides it's not such a bad idea to sleep on the couch, just for a little while. Wadsworth's ambient noises are kind of comforting, the gentle whirl of the them. Yves falls asleep easily.

\--

It's dark outside when Yves wakes up, but still early. He didn't mean to sleep for so long. Still in his armor, his joints ache from being curled up on the couch. He's not that big, but neither is the couch. 

He heads upstairs to shower. Even though Wadsworth is only a robot, Yves waits until he's got the bathroom door shut before stripping out of his armor. It's gross and sticky against his skin. He wore it for too long. 

Megaton's water doesn't have that many rads, all things considered, but Yves pops a rad-x into his mouth anyway before stepping into the shower. Most of the homes have working plumbing, hot and cold because of the pumping station and a couple of functioning water heaters. Still, Yves doesn't make the water too warm because he doesn't want to use up someone else's portion.

He vigorously scrubs at his clammy skin until it turns sort of pink-peach from the abrasion. His skin has gotten darker since leaving the vault, but everytime he looks at himself in a mirror he thinks he still looks ill. He can't make it go away.

Yves tries not to get distracted in the shower. He always tries to push those thoughts back down because water is a scarce resource and even if it weren't he shouldn't be indulging in these diversions. There shouldn't be so many of them. He wonders if something is wrong with him.

It's not a problem that he thinks of men. His God, merciful as He is, wouldn't punish him for that. His God would never punish him for who he loves. The problem is, what he thinks about under the water isn't love, not entirely. 

He thinks about broad hands gripping onto his hips from behind, squeezing until he's bruised. He thinks of a solid body against his back, nudging his feet apart until he's spread. A voice whispering into his ear that it's okay, Yves is doing so good. Just arch his back a little and relax. He'll take care of Yves.

Yves pins one hand to the shower wall in front of him for support, the other he wraps around his cock.

He thinks about this other man's cock inside of him, stretching him almost to the point of breaking. But he would be gentle at first, working him open with his fingers until Yves is ready to accept him. Only then would he slide in, all the way to the root, a body warm against Yves, covering him, protecting. They wouldn't have to hurry, making love until Yves is shivering for release, lips on his neck, teeth biting down-

Yves comes, rocking into his hand. He's ashamed. He's ashamed because he knows he was thinking of Vance, and to think of a particular man makes it worse. Like he's invaded Vance's privacy by inserting him into his fantasy.

Rinsing his hand a final time, Yves shuts off the water. He wraps a towel around himself before heading to the bedroom. Even though he's already come once, he's still jumpy, all on edge. Thinking about someone in particular, thinking about Vance, has made it worse. He still feels needy and empty. Like he wishes, God, he wishes someone were there. Not just to make love to him, but to hold him afterward too.

He manages to get dressed, just jeans and a clean shirt. Maybe he won't feel so agitated if he goes out. Gob is always nice to him, even if Moriarty isn't. The proprietor has been particularly cruel to Yves since his father died. Then again, he's cruel to everyone.

Yves breathes a sigh of relief that Lucy isn't up at Moriarty's. He'll see her around eventually, but right now he just can't manage. Not seeing Moriarty anywhere, Yves takes a seat at the bar. Better place to talk to Gob.

"Hey, pal, what'll it be?" Gob puts down the glass he's been scrubbing. They never be clean though, no matter how hard Gob works.

"Just a nuka, I guess." The mac and cheese earlier was plenty. Yves slides his caps over while Gob opens his cola.

Gob gets back to his work while Yves tries to formulate a question. He'd like to pretend he just came over to chat, have a drink, a little relaxation. But really Gob's the best person he as to bounce ideas off of. He's nice, and polite, and doesn't make fun of Yves for the way he talks. Or for asking questions everyone thinks he should already know the answer to. Yves pulls at the label on his bottle.

"Hey, Gob?"

The ghoul takes a step over. "What's got you, pal?"

Yves can't really look at him as the words spill out, but it's okay. Gob won't make fun of him for that either. "How do you, um, when you like someone, how do you tell if they like you back?"

Gob smiles, all cracked teeth and missing lips, "who's the lucky guy?"

Yves stills for a moment. He had no idea it was that...obvious. He knows most boys like girls and most girls like boys and in the vault you didn't have another option even if inside you felt different. But out here there's no Overseer and still most boys like girls and girls like boys. So while he's not ashamed of being gay, he also knows it's not common.

"Just...someone I met. I'm being silly." He rips off a long, thin strip of paper from the cola bottle. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't. But, I don't know, I want to know for sure." He brushes his hair away from his eyes.

"Can't say I'm the man for that question. But I know someone who is."

Yves groans into his hands. Nova. Gob means Nova.

"Do you want me to get her?" Gobs expression softens a little. He really isn't trying to be mean about it. He's trying to help.

"Um, yeah, okay."

Yves goes back to nursing his cola. Gob's got other customers. It takes about twenty minutes until Nova actually comes around. She carrying a box filled with whiskey bottles that she slides under the bar before dusting off her hands. Gob whispers to her, probably about him, before she comes over.

"Love troubles?" she asks.

He wants to correct about a hundred times that yes, this is definitely about love and not the ache between his legs. But he doesn't know if Nova would be insulted. And he only wants to be polite.

"Yeah, um. How do you know, when you like someone, if they like you back?"

Nova smiles a little. It puts Yves at ease. "And you can't just ask him, honey?"

Yves hasn't asked for it, but Gob slides him another cola. He'll make sure to leave money on the bar.

"I don't want to make him uncomfortable! I mean, he's really really nice to me. But I think he's just nice to everyone. And, well, I know he's been with a woman before, so I don't know if he'd be interested. And even if he is interested in men, that doesn't mean he'd be interested in me, right?" Yves feels a little light headed, saying so much at once.

Nova laughs, "take a breath, Yves."

He nods, and maybe the breath he takes is too big. Gosh, he's always acting funny around people.

"Okay, so if he really is a nice guy, like you seem to think?"

Yves nods for her to continue. Yeah, he's certain Vance cares about people. That he's trying to be a good person. What Holly said spooked him a little. But she just confirmed that Vance wants to be good. So he can't make sense of her warning. If you try to be good, you are good. Right?

"Well then, honey, he's not going to hate you for just saying how you feel. Even if he doesn't reciprocate." She reaches across the bar to smooth down Yves' hair. "He might let you down, but hopefully it will be easily if he doesn't feel the same about you. And it won't be nothing you've done. But if he does like you, well, it'll be all out in the open. And any guy would be lucky to have you, Yves."

There's a clatter at the back door. Must mean Moriarty is back. That makes both Gob and Nova start. Their faces change entirely. Yves isn't blind to what's going on with Moriarty, only he hasn't found a way to fix it yet. He leaves a little extra on the bar before slipping out the front.

\--

Yves doesn't do anything. At least, not right away. He eats a bowl of sugar bombs in the morning and snack cakes for lunch. Both of them make him feel sick. The Brotherhood said they'd send someone to fetch him when they needed him, until then, he's left to his own devices while they plan. He's not really sure what help he'll be. Other than he knows the code for the purifier.

He tries not to think of the purifier. Of his dad on the other side of the glass.

Oh, no.

He spends the rest of the afternoon laying on the couch fiddling with his Pip-boy, flipping from screen to screen. He checks his health, his rads, the map, back to his health, in case something changed, then his rads again.

\--

He could go to Rivet City. He'd be closer to the purifier then. In case they need him. Maybe they already sent a message and something happened to the scout? But no, that's silly because who could take down a Brotherhood member? Enclave, he supposes. Though, Yves does alright for himself so the idea that a member of the Brotherhood couldn't seems weird.

Butch is in Rivet City, and though he's often just as mean to Yves now as he was in the vault, it's not so bad. They're sort of friends now even though Butch refuses to leave the boat with him. Says he's got zero interest in playing savior of the wastes with bible-boy.

Yves decides to go to Rivet City, but walks in the opposite direction. To Meresti.

Along the way he tries to think up an excuse, where he could possibly be headed that Meresti is on the way, when most everything he has to do is back towards the DC ruins. Nova told him to tell the truth, but wouldn't it be sort of, desperate to make the trip just to talk to Vance?

Traveling light and quick, Yves makes it to the yard a while after dark. He's exhausted, but it's not too much further through the tunnels to reach the Family. He only hopes it isn't so late that he'll disturb them.

Robert waves him through without a word, accustomed now to Yves showing up, he guesses. Yves give him a little smile. Maybe it's not as late as he thought.

Inside though most everyone is asleep, curled up into cots. 'His' cot is empty, though. But he wants to tell Vance he's here, so he's not surprised in the morning. And Yves doesn't want to disturb the others twice so he keeps his pack on his shoulder.

Vance's door is closed and he's probably asleep, but telling him is still probably the right thing to do. Yves knocks lightly, holding his ear to the door to listen for a response. He can make out the gentle rustling of Vance getting out of bed.

Yves tries to work out an apology by the time the door opens.

Vance's dyed hair is sticking out at odd angles from sleep. While he's pulled on a pair of slacks, he's still shirtless and his eyes full of sleep. Yves shouldn't have woken him. But when Vance realizes who it is, he smiles.

"Yves. Here to spend the night? Gone in the morning?"

Gosh, it really sounds like an invitation. Like Vance is inviting Yves to spend the night with him. But Yves knows well enough it's in his head. He's just hearing what he wants to. Still his mouth feels really really dry and he's staring again at the expanse of Vance's chest and thinking back to sitting on his bed and reading his work and just how much Vance cares about being good. And Yves, selfishly, wants Vance to care about being good to him.

"Yes, but, um."

"Come in, Yves," Vance takes a step back, keeping his hand on the door.

Yves hesitates, but he can't deny he wants to come inside. He tightens his grip on his pack. Reaching forward, Vance takes it off his shoulder. Yves steps inside.

"So tell me," Vance puts one big hand on each of Yves' shoulders. "What's wrong?"

The leather of Yves' armor is too thick to feel the heat of Vance's hands, but he's pretty sure he's warm. Or would get warm from putting his hands on Yves' body, touching him everywhere. Shoot, his tongue is still all tied and he's scared. Yves is scared of how Vance will react. Not that he'll be mean, but that he won't want to see Yves anymore. 

"I-I, can I ask you something?" Yves' gut twists in knots.

"Of course." Vance's thumb rubs over Yves' shoulder. Yves isn't even sure Vance knows he's doing it. Yves takes what comfort he's given.

"Vance, do you, do you think about me?"

Vance smiles, patting Yves on the shoulder before withdrawing. No, oh no, he's gone and ruined things already. 

"Of course. You've helped us a great deal. We owe our relationship with the people of Arefu to you. More than that, I like to think of you as a friend. But that's not what you mean, is it?"

Yves shakes his head. Yves crashes, he breaks. He throws his arms around Vance's bare shoulders, coming up on his toes to make their lips meet. Yves doesn't really know what he's doing, how to kiss. But it's short and Vance doesn't push him away. But when Yves pulls back, Vance isn't smiling anymore.

He covers his mouth with his hand, "Oh, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have, I'm sorry."

Vance looks sad. "Yves..." Like he's trying to come up with an excuse.

Yves is ready to bolt. His pack is on the ground but there's nothing super important in there anyway, nothing he could do without.

"It's late. Why don't you take my bed? We can talk about this in the morning."

With shaking hands, Yves wants to ask Vance to stay. To let him share Vance's bed instead of taking it. So he's smelling Vance instead of some remnant of him that does nothing but make him hard between the sheets.

"Stay?" He doesn't mean for his voice to sound so small.

Vance touches his cheek. "It's better if I don't. We'll talk in the morning."

Vance leaves, as if Yves will be able to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Yves wakes up in a half-familiar bed. The ceiling is hashmarked with pipes but this is not the vault. He's underground, but this is not the vault. The sheets are white and clean and he can smell coffee brewing, but he's certain this isn't home.

The weight of sin-worn bricks is on his chest, makes it collapse under pressure. Yves father is dead. And it's his fault. He wasn't fast enough to save James, dawdling too long trying to retrieve the G.E.C.K., if only he hadn't hesitated, then insisted on going to retrieve the device himself, unwilling to let another man, even a mutant, fulfill his duty to his father.

Yves pulls at his hair. A few black strands come out in his hand. He checks his pipboy. It's not his RADs. It never is. But he's sick to his stomach too.

His armor is laid out over Vance’s desk chair, neatly folded over so it won't crease. Yves doesn't reach for it, instead pulling slacks and a shirt from his pack. The slacks are rumpled, but they’ll be okay. It's cooler below ground than it is above, but the station doesn't have the frigid air of the vault.

Vance said they would talk in the morning. Well, now it is morning, and Yves doesn't want to talk. Without the creep of exhaustion his tongue is bound more tightly. The coffee smells good, though.

It's Holly who made the pot. She sits on the edge of the table, her feet flat on the chair in front of her, a warm mug in her hands. She waves to Yves. The little brewer sits by her side, long extension cord leading back to the wall.

While he walks towards her, she pours him a cup. She asks him about cream and sugar too. Yves takes just the sugar. The mug is stained on the inside, but Yves doesn't mind. They live in a world of borrowed things. Yves wonders what it's like to own anything at all that is new.

“Vance told me to keep you from leaving,” she wrinkles her nose. “That's enough to make me want to tell you to leave as soon as possible.”

Yves takes a sip of his coffee, it's still hot enough to burn the inside of his mouth. Tastes good, though. “Where did he go?”

“Arefu. It's the only time he goes out anymore.” 

“Are you going to tell me again he's not a good person?” Yves shuffles his feet. It's hard to look at Holly and accuse her at the same time. She has been so nice to him. He doesn't want to seem ungrateful. But he doesn't understand why she is so adamant in discouraging him. “You're still here, right? With him. So there must be something.”

Holly sighs, “you know, I wasn't any older than you when I first met Vance. And I, I had already, well, you know,” she waves her hand but the gesture isn't particular. “I had been on my own since I was thirteen. Living under scraps of metal, eating scraps of anything I could find. Didn't matter what. It wasn't a compulsion for me. It was necessity. Eat or die. Vance, Vance doesn't understand the difference.” Holly rolls the mug between her palms. Her cup is nearly empty. “Vance offered me a lot. He's a good leader. I'll still follow him, even if we’re not alike, not really. But I can't love him anymore. Not like I could at nineteen. Not when he looked like the only refuge, this big, bright shining light in the darkness. He's not that Yves. He's not.”

Yves doesn't have a suitable reply, but he feels like he has to defend Vance. “I'm not naive.”

“I never said you were,” Holly smiles.

“And I don't think...I don't think he's the solution to all my troubles or anything like that.” Yves eyes shift around the room. It's so so hard to face her. “I'm just...I'm just lonely.”

“And Vance is kind.” From Holly’s tone, Yves finally finds the evidence he needs to believe her. She knows, she knows better than he could ever put into words.

They finish their coffee together. Holly asks him if his birthday is coming up? He should celebrate. Yves won't be a teenager much longer. 

When they're finished with their coffee, Yves excuses himself. He should make Vance’s bed, move his things from the room, vacate the space that isn't his. Yves packs his things neatly together and leaves his bag in the common room. Vance didn't tell anyone when he'd be back. 

There's a ghoul problem he could tend to, if he's so inclined.

Yves hates to think of ghouls as ‘problems,’ though he's seen with his own eyes the difference between the ferals and the not. When he looks at the men who have lost their minds, he still sees humans staring back. Humans who once had hope, knew meaning, They could be anyone, they could be him. Makes him shiver through his marrow.

From his pack he takes his crowbar, three stimpaks, and two stealthboys. There’s already a knife in his waistband. Behind the changing curtain he switches his slacks for leather armor. He doesn't dare go back to Vance’s room.

Through the tunnel he keeps close to the wall. Yves keeps his eyes open for other people’s traps as well, crude things that choke the path. Effective as they may be, there's no sophistication, no creativity to the mines. The rigged baby carriage is a little better.

He watches for cracks in pipes, wires that still fizzle with electricity, signs of molerats, rotting boards. Anything that just needs a careful push to become dangerous. Of course, he has to listen for the ghouls too, but they are not as subtle. Still, they're part of the environment.

Coming up on the coordinates Robert gave him, Yves quiets his breath. There’s an abandoned train car, scratching noises coming from inside. He listens for how many bodies, each letting out a different frequency in their movement. Five. There are five ghouls. 

To the left of the car is an exposed wire, but there's no water to carry the current. Yves could get on top of the car, though. The ladder is intact and he's certain he's light-footed enough to not disturb the ghouls. But no water.

He backtracks through the tunnels, looking for a bucket first. He finds one in a utility closet. Checking the boxes for anything else, he pulls wonder glue and a can of paint, still wet inside. Yves fills the bucket with irritated water from the tap. The rads will heal the ghouls, but he's fairly certain the electrical shock will be worse than any minor healing effects.

It's cumbersome, handling both the bucket and the can of paint back to where the ghouls are holding up. Perhaps it is cruel, to disturb them at a time when they are hurting no one. Perhaps it is kind to put them out of their misery. One can only be miserable living as they do.

Activating his first stealthboy, Yves shimmers out of sight. Leaving the bucket by the ladder, he moves instead to the door to the car. He spreads the stark white paint in front of the door in thick globs. Some of it he smears under the windows, just in case they try to get out another way.

He grabs an intact beer bottle from the ground, shoving it into his pocket. With the water bucket in hand, Yves goes up the ladder. It's a tricky thing, moving silently with the bucket, but he manages. He takes the bottle from his pocket, throwing it against the tunnel wall. It smashes loudly, beer running down the bricks.

The ghouls stumble out in a rush, dipping their feet in the paint. They move, mindlessly, toward the noise. As they pass under the exposed wire, Yves throws the water from the bucket, showering three of the five in sparks that stop their hearts. The ghouls crumple to the floor, their limbs still spasming. 

Yves presses his body flat against the roof of the car. The other two ghouls are looking for him. The paint on their feet mark out their path as they wander, slowly, slowly losing interest, forgetting Yves was ever there. Taking different directions, the two ghouls split up, heading back up the tunnel. Jumping from the roof, Yves follows the footprints of one.

Getting behind the ghoul, Yves kills it as quickly as possible, his knife between the man’s ribs. Down the other tunnel there's a loud crack that echoes through the chamber, The ghoul folds like a house of cards, slipping through Yves grip. Backtracking again, Yves looks for the second set of tracks until they vanish. Not enough paint for the distance the ghoul traveled. 

Yves has to listen again. Ragged breaths, scared, hurt. Not his own. The stealthboy runs out. He may not need the second.

When he finds the ghoul, he is already injured, one leg blown off, chunks of flesh and exposed bone. The explosion Yves heard earlier. The ghoul stepped on a mine. Even injured, the ghoul tries to fight Yves off, scratching and clawing. Yves can't get close enough to slit the ghoul’s throat. If he does nothing, it will bleed out. That is too cruel.

“Okay, it's okay,” Yves keeps his voice even. “I want to help. Will you let me help you?” He tries to reach the ghoul with his kindness, though it was his carelessness that got the man’s leg blown off in the first place. Had he waited a moment longer with the water, maybe he could have shocked all five painlessly. “I know it hurts. I know.” 

The ghoul’s eyes are still wild, but they lock with Yves’. When Yves steps forward, the ghoul doesn't shriek, he doesn't claw. Yves wraps his arms around the ghoul’s torso, holding him close as the blade sinks into the ghoul’s lung, letting it collapse. Even then, he makes no noise. 

“It's okay, you can sleep now.” Yves smooths his hand over the ghoul’s skull, where hair would have been.


	5. Chapter 5

Yves makes it back to the Family. Vance still hasn't returned.

Holly thanks him. Though Robert already stuffed Yves pack full of valuables for his work, her kind words mean more to him. She asks Yves if he wants anything to eat? There are some boxes of dry goods somewhere that she can find for him. Her blood pack is still sealed on the table.

It’ll stain her teeth pink until she brushes. Yves feels queasy. 

“I've got some food. Don't worry.” She doesn't need to fuss over him any more than she has.

Vance comes in just then, two bags over one shoulder, stuffed with blood from Arefu. Yves feels a little swell of pride that he managed to bring the two settlements together. That he solved their problems. 

“Oh,” Vance looks surprised to see Yves is still there. “You stayed.”

“Holly said you wanted me to wait,” Yves wrings his hands. “And you said...in the morning.” It's already past seven in the evening. 

“Of course. Come, I need to unpack, we can talk too.” Vance puts his hand on Yves’ shoulder. Yves wishes he wouldn't, because the touch is too electric.

Together they walk back to storage. There's already a three or four day supply of blood in the cabinets. Vance asks Yves if he can pull the old bags out, so they can put the newer ones in the back. Yves doesn't correct him, pointing that they don't know the draw date to any of them. He just wants to be helpful. And now that Vance is here, Yves is hesitant to make the first move.

They stack the blood from the packs silently, trading places as they work. Vance doesn't say anything about last night. The privacy screen affords them some distance from the others, who mostly just go about their evening with little concern for Vance and his guest.

When they finish, Vance closes the cabinet. They don't use locks. Any member of the Family may feed as they see fit. This most recent delivery ensures that they will be well stocked for months yet.

Yves pulls at his armor. He should have gotten out of it before Vance could show up. Oh, not like that. No. No.

“I guess I can't delay any longer,” Vance faces Yves, still smiling.

How can he smile? Yves can feel his heart pounding through his ribs. Startling in its intensity.

“Ah, would you like to sit down.”

Yves shakes his head. “I just...I want.”

Vance waits for Yves to continue, but his tongue feels too thick in his mouth.

“Please,” Yves whines, his hands coming to the front of Vance’s shirt, curling there.

Vance touches the side of Yves’s face, fingers barely grazing over flushed skin. Yves wants to throw himself against Vance’s frame, to be surrounded and coddled. He wants to let his voice shatter all around them that he is sorry, so sorry, for not being good enough. Vance may be able to understand.

The pad of Vance’s thumb presses against Yves’ lip, tugging it down just slightly. Yves opens his mouth, expecting more, but Vance stops what little progress they’ve made.

“We have to talk, first.”

Then just talk!

“I'm not a child,” Yves is firm. He's not. He’ll be twenty in a few weeks. “I know what I want.”

Vance’s hand drops to Yves’ side. Yves can barely feel it through the leather armor. “Why? You're so special, Yves, precious in this world of decay. I could not be so presumptuous.” Vance threads his fingers through the belt loops on Yves’ pants. Yves leans closer.

Yves comes up on his toes to meet Vance's lips. The fluttering his chest threatens to break through. Yves can hear his blood pounding in his ears and feel Vance’s lips move against his own. The slight wetness of Vance’s mouth as his lips part makes Yves want this stillness of the moment between them even more. He wants to keep it safe.

“Was I too presumptuous, then?” Yves blushes, waiting for yet another deferral.

“No, Yves.” 

They kiss again in unhurried waves of affection. Yves snakes his arms around Vance’s shoulders. Vance’s hair is longer in the back, brushing against Yves’ forearms. For all the desire, the lust Yves can detect in their kiss, Vance holds back, his hands unmoving around Yves’ waist. There is nothing lewd about their movements, slightly parted lips, a scrape of Yves’ teeth against Vance’s lower lip as Yves grows excited. He is half-hard already in his armor. What with the press of their bodies together and Vance’s voice in his ears. ‘No, Yves.’ Not presumptuous, Yves.

When they break apart it is by Vance’s choice. Yves would just as soon drown as stop. He keeps his arms in place, unwilling to leave. 

“The others will get suspicious,” Vance doesn't sound terribly concerned.

Yves dips one finger into the back of Vance’s collar. “Are you ashamed? Of me?”

Vance laughs at that. “I would think it would be the other way around. You are the ‘Angel of the Wastes,’ are you not? And young. And you exist above ground, in the light, while I skitter down below.” While Vance’s words are self-effacing, he keeps smiling. He doesn't believe them, not really, there's an element of showmanship to them. But they also give Yves a way out.

Yves stands his ground, “Would you kiss me again?” 

“If you’d like,” Vance’s smile fades, “after we eat.”

About to protest that he isn't hungry, Yves realizes Vance may be. He's been traveling all day. Yves doesn't like watching when the family sucks down their blood packs. To avoid this, he takes a seat at the end of the table and chews his re-heated beans looking away from Vance. If his distaste offends Vance, he doesn't say.

No one says a word as Yves trots behind Vance back to his room. They've done this enough already with innocent intent, why would this time be any different? Listening to the pounding of his own heart, Yves misses everything that Vance says.

“You haven't been listening?” Vance closes the door behind them.

Caught out, Yves shakes his head, “No, I guess not.”

Vance steps towards him, putting his hand on the side of Yves’ face. “You’re warm.”

Tired of delaying tactics, Yves pulls Vance down into their third kiss or maybe this is their fourth. Yves marks them in his mind like a silly schoolboy. This time, with the security of Vance’s door behind him, Yves pours himself into the contact, tries to express how much he has wanted this. Even if this bizarre chemistry he feels is one-sided, maybe he can force his desire back into Vance, make it grow and bloom.

Vance’s mouth tastes like copper. The metal scares Yves more than anything. No, it scares Yves that the taste isn't from metal at all. But the fear doesn't negate his arousal. He paws at Vance’s shirt, but taking it off, that might be too far. If Vance doesn't want him like he wants Vance. Oh, how embarrassing. 

“Don't you think we should slow down?” Vance says after pulling away. He pets Yves’ dark hair, smoothing it flat. 

“No?” Yves wishes he could be more assertive. “No. Touch me, please.” 

Maybe being desperate isn't so bad because Vance wraps his fingers around Yves hips and this time kisses him first. Vance doesn't bite, but he does push Yves’ lips apart, dart his tongue into Yves wet, open mouth. Yves gets so giddy he could burst, grabbing everywhere at once and nowhere for long. He's hard, but the armor is thick enough Vance might not notice. God, he wants Vance to notice, though. Wants Vance to move his hand from Yves hip to his groin, to fondle him through his armor, or under it. To throw him on the bed and tell him what to do. Because even though Yves is rough with himself when he's alone, no one has touched him, not like this.

“On the bed?” Yves asks, “please?”

Vance’s eyes are blown wide. Yves realizes he's aroused too and that makes him nearly screech with joy. That they are getting somewhere. “Get out of your armor.” Vance lets go of Yves to take off his own shoes.

So eager to strip down, Yves doesn't know where to stop, going all the way down to his boxers before standing to face Vance again. Vance has only removed his boots and jacket. He's still mostly clothed while Yves is too close to naked. God, he must look like an idiot.

“Get into bed,” Vance directs. Yves is just happy for the command, and that Vance doesn't say anything about how he took off too much.

Vance strips his shirt, but leaves on his pants. He's wiry and thin. Not that much different from Yves, really, just much taller. They’ll be all bone on bone without the insulation of their clothing. Leaving his trousers on, Vance climbs into bed next to Yves. Not on top of Yves or between his thighs, but just to his side. He pulls Yves close and kisses his cheek first, then his lips. When Yves reaches out to touch Vance’s chest, run his fingers over the definition of his rib bones, Vance doesn't stop him, just keeps kissing, licking into Yves’ mouth.

At no point does he reach for Yves cock, or tell Yves to touch his. Though Yves is only brave enough to skim against the waistband of Vance’s slacks once. 

“Do you need to come, Yves?” They've been kissing for a long time. “You're making these...noises. Fuck,” Vance sounds almost appreciative of whatever noise that is. Yves hasn't noticed, too infatuated with touching to think about his own voice betraying him.

“I-yes...I think so.” He buries his face against Vance’s shoulder, trying to blot out the overhead lights that have been on the whole time. “Do you?”

“No, Yves, I don't.”

Something about that is terrifying. That Yves needs this from Vance more than Vance needs this from him. Yves suspected something of the sort all along. But knowing now that he's strung so tight and Vance is barely hard, it's frustrating. Why is he holding back? What is Yves not giving him that he needs?

“Do you want me to touch you?”

Yves’ breath hitches, “yes, please.”

Vance eases Yves’ boxers off. When they reach his thighs, Yves kicks them away somewhere on the floor. Wrapping his hand around Yves’ cock, Vance focuses his concentration on Yves. He tells Yves he's good, he's beautiful, he's perfect. A whole bunch of pretty lies. Because with his father gone, no one really knows who Yves is anymore. And no one at all knows how he's responsible for his father’s death. They say it isn't his fault. But they're wrong.

Yves bites his fingernails into Vance’s shoulders as he comes. His belly is warm and tight. Normally, when he touches himself, there's something inside him too. But this is almost as good, even without the extra stimulation, because it's not his own hand. It's Vance’s, and Vance keeps licking the line of Yves throat, running his tongue against the bob of his adam’s apple. It's too good. Toothlessly, Vance sucks sharply at Yves’ neck.

Vance rolls over to wipe his hand against the side of the sheets when Yves is finished. Yves feels too good to move. He hopes Vance won't move either. Sleeping alone now would be the greatest offense. Vance kisses the side of Yves’ face before climbing back out of bed. Killing the sob in his throat, Yves waits for the inevitable. But Vance doesn't leave. He just finds Yves’ boxers, encouraging him to put them back on, before pulling a clean sheet over them both. Bundling Yves into his arms, Vance asks one last time if he is okay. Yves nods into Vance’s chest, brushing dark hair against pale skin.

\--

In the morning, Vance is gone. Glancing at his pipboy, Yves realizes it's late, well past nine am. He fishes his clothes off the floor, pulling them back on even though they are soiled.

In the common area of the station, Vance speaks with a tall woman in power armor. She holds her helmet under one arm. In front of Vance she is massive, making the man look rail thin and frail. 

“Sentinel Lyons?” Yves calls, rushing up to the pair. “What are you doing here?”

Vance answers for her, “she's come to retrieve you.”

“Damn, Yves, we couldn't find you anywhere. The Elder has been sending patrols out. Didn't expect to find you here. But the settlers at Arefu said you come here sometimes.”

Yves ears flush with embarrassment. He wonders what other sort of rumors circulate, although last night was the first time he's done anything worth the gossip. “I suppose I need to come with you?”

“Unless you have other matters to wrap up,” she looks from Yves to Vance suspiciously. “Do you want an escort?”

“Um, yeah if you give me thirty minutes, I can be ready?”

Sarah nods, says they can wait. Safer to travel together, although she is certain Yves can handle himself. He's a resourceful kid. Yves doesn't wait to correct her that he's not a kid. 

It's not until he's washing his face in the harsh lighting of the bathroom, his clothes already changed, that he realizes there is a red welt on his neck. He rubs at it, but he's got nothing to hide it. Shoot.


	6. Chapter 6

Yves sits cross-legged in his cot at the Citadel. The Brotherhood are poised to move, soon, they keep telling him. They already have everything they need to take the purifier back. That giant robot, plenty of troops, the will to act. Yves doesn't really know why they need him. He spins the dial on his pipboy over and over, trying to guess which menu it’ll land on.

Star Paladin Cross comes to see him, petting his hair and treating him like a child. Yves doesn't correct her, though, because she knew him as a child, tiny and bundled against his father’s chest. It must be hard to let go. She sits next to him in the bed, her armor causing the springs to sink.

“Are you worried, Yves?”

Yves sighs, yes, of course he is worried. “I try not to be.” He goes back to his pipboy screen. After a few minutes, Cross leaves him be.

In the morning, Sarah wants to take him for power armor training. He's skeptical, to say the least. No sophisticated machine is going to make him a better fighter. It'll make him stronger, harder to kill, sure, maybe it'll even make his aim better, though that's not really a problem for him. So, yes, the power armor has a lot of advantages, but having to use it reminds Yves of how much this isn't his fight. How it doesn't play to his skills or strengths. He can't hide against the Enclave, he can't manipulate his environment so everything goes his way. He’ll only be able to march in line, follow on Sarah’s heels.

But they do need him, because Yves refuses to be parted from the code, the numbers given to him by his mother. He keeps them secret, close. He may be responsible for his father’s death, but at least he can set his parents’ dream right. 

\--

Sarah says he looks good in the armor. Yves knows he looks just like everyone else. Inside the suit is insufferable, stuffy and hot and his arms and legs don't feel like his own. Like he's trying to swim in a pool filled with molten lead. Just as heavy, almost as hot.

Liberty Prime raises from the ground on shoddy hydraulics like a rusty beacon, parroting lines about communists and the American way. Yves wonders who is going to break it to the robot that there's no America any more. Yves only has a faint idea of what once was. In the vault they taught history, but through a two-hundred year game of telephone.

Yves knows his ancestors came from someplace an ocean away. When they came to America, they became Americans. Sort of. Because not everyone agreed they should belong. But they loved the same God, so that was a start. Even if their surname felt funny on American tongues.

So, fighting for the American way doesn't sound too awful to Yves ears. It means he's alive now, sucking down air filtered through his borrowed armor, trying to keep pace with Sarah as she runs.

She looks back frequently, making sure Yves can keep up. Despite what she says, Yves knows Sarah thinks he's weak. And he sort of is. But that doesn't mean he's not useful, he's not brave. She shouts words of encouragement as they run. Bombs bursting overhead, no one expects Yves to fight the waves of Enclave soldiers. They don't even hand him a gun.

To the credit of Lyon’s Pride, not a single Enclave suit gets near him. The racket of mortar and laser rifles fades as they push into the Jefferson. Then everything gets loud again as they set to blow out the interior doors with tightly packed explosives. Even with the sound dampeners in Yves’ helmet, his ears ring at the blast.

With the close quarters fighting Yves has to engage more. The Enclave are so close. He still doesn't have a gun, but when they swarm the Pride, he swings out with his fists. He may not be making things better, but they're also not any worse. Sarah and the others keep pushing them back and back, until they blast open the doors of the rotunda. 

This is it. The place where Yves father died. Where he was taken captive. Where Yves last failed the Wasteland. He won't do it again.

Colonel Autumn descends the stairs, calling Yves by name. “Suleiman, this is the end of the line.” This is where it ends, of course. This is where it started too, where his parents met.

Neither side fires on sight. If anything, this is a stand-off. The Brotherhood have the upper hand, but they're not using it. They still have to get through Autumn.

It's Sarah and Yves on one side. Autumn and two Enclave soldiers in power armor on the other. Autumn doesn't wear armor at all, just his long jacket over a turtleneck and some slacks. Obvious enough he did not expect the Brotherhood to even get this far. He's afraid. Yves can see it in the way his eyes waver.

Yves pulls off his helmet. 

Sarah asks, “what?”

Without hesitation, Yves chucks his helmet at the glass of the purifier. It cracks like the lines of a snowflake, different than any other pattern ever seen. The pressure inside the glass is greater than the outside. If it breaches, it will flood the whole room, the whole Wasteland, with radiation. They're close to Rivet City. The settlement will be rendered uninhabitable. Yves knows all this.

He also knows that every single person in the room is too stunned by his rash action to do or say anything. While they're silent, Yves runs up the stairs to the sealed door. Autumn and his men run out into the memorial, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the inevitable leak.

But the leak isn't inevitable. If Yves turns the purifier on in time, it will vent the radiation properly. The glass won't crack. They can repair it later. Sarah starts yelling at him. She should leave, but Yves doesn't have time to tell her. 

Getting through the first set of doors, Yves repeats to himself, “Revelation, 21:6, I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life.” That was his mother's favorite verse. Of course it was. But Yves has never understood how, even with her unselfish dream of a world with fresh, clean water, she could justify the violence that comes after.

“Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral,” Yves hesitates. Now through the second bank of containment doors, he punches ‘216’ into the keypad. All around him he can feel his body dying. Inside and out. The radiation is killing him. The purifier starts to vent, the pressure against the crack he inflicted abating. With a throaty whir, the purifier comes to life cracking and clawing as it spins. Yves feels as if he is going to vomit. “Those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”

He loses control of his body, retching onto the floor. He tries to hold himself up, but there is no point. The radiation dose is too much. But he's done it, he's won. On the other side of the glass, Sarah yells at him that he is an idiot, a fucking idiot. Yves is sure she would have done the same, thrown herself into the purifier because she thought Yves too fragile. True enough, she is built to be a hero. But they are only human, both of them. One of them was marked to die here. Yves would rather it be him. She can protect this world Yves’ father built. Yves himself is only a mediator, a missionary.

\--

Yves wakes up alone, covered in a thin sheet and a thinner layer of sweat. There is an IV in his arm. His mouth is dry. No one is there to cheer his recovery from certain death. He stares up at the ceiling he recognizes as the Citadel. Wiggling his fingers and his toes, he makes sure he is intact. Yves lifts up the sheet to check the rest of him. Doesn't look like a ghoul, doesn't feel like one either.

His pipboy sits on the end table, powered off. Yves looks at his naked wrist. It's been ten years since he could last see the skin there. He expects it to be weird, gray, diseased, but it's no different than the rest of him.

Holding the sheet around his waist, he tries to get out of bed. Easier said than done, but he makes his legs work. Holding onto the IV drip, he makes it as far as the hallway before realizing he should turn around. His grip around the pole tightens. If he could get some med-x, something to dull the pain, maybe he could go home. 

He doesn't get far down the hall before the Brotherhood doctors find him. They start scolding immediately, trotting him back to his cot and telling him to stay put while they run tests. Yves doesn't have the strength to fight them all.

As the days pass, Yves gets stronger. He’ll be allowed to go home soon. He was in the coma for almost three months. Where before he was thin, he's now emaciated, but the doctors feed him small amounts of too-rich food, saying it's the best way to get his strength back with his stomach as shrunken as it is. Once he can stomach three meals of their sugar and Brahmin milk concoction, they take him off the IV.

Star Paladin Cross wants to escort him back to Megaton. Yves doesn't fight her about it, though it means he has to go straight home, no detours. When he's alone in his cot at night, he thinks about Vance's hands on his body. God, that feels like it happened to a different body, not his. 

\--

In the end, Cross is needed elsewhere, but Yves travels straight home anyway, too tried to detour, though tomorrow he may regret his decision. It may already be too late. Vance may have changed his mind, come to his senses. Or think that Yves has changed his mind.

Wadsworth greets him, announcing that they have a ‘guest.’

Upstairs, the shower is running. Yves realizes the water must be clean. He closes his eyes. He did this. He made the water clean. His hands start shaking. Covering his face, he keeps from screaming, laughing instead. He's so full of elation he could dance in the living room. He did this.

“Ms. Clover said she is your friend!” Wadsworth continues. Apparently the robot is unconcerned with Yves burst of laughter. 

“Oh! Oh! Yes she is.” Yves had not even considered who his guest might be. Only that there is a pair of women’s heels by the door. But if Clover is here, that must mean...Eulogy.

Colver comes out of the shower, one towel around her body and another around her hair. “Oh! Sugar!” She bounds down the stairs, the towel in her hair slipping. There are a good three inches of black roots before the blonde starts. “I've heard you've been busy.”

“Clover,” Yves is really afraid he might cry now, so instead he starts laughing again. Her neck is bare and her dark eyes bright. “You got away?”

She shrugs in a way that telegraphs ‘don't ask.’ So Yves drops it. 

“I'm glad,” he kisses her cheek.

“You said I'm always welcome here.”

Yves grabs her hands, holding them in his and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “You are, of course. I'm glad,” he keeps repeating.

She says she needs to get dressed. Once the guest bedroom door is closed, Yves screams into his hands. 

\--

Clover says she's got no interest in traveling with Yves, if it's all the same to him. In a way, he's relieved, not knowing how to explain the Family to her. Once he's said it's alright, she can stay as long as she needs, forever, if it suits her, she opens up, just a fraction.

“I didn't throw Eulogy off just to follow you like a lost kitten.” She sticks her nose back into her magazine, kicking her bare feet up on the armrest of the sofa.

“There are caps in the freezer, if you need them.”

“In the freezer?” She looks over the edge of the periodical informing her about 2075’s latest fashions. “Why?”

Yves doesn't know why. Only that he didn't know where else to put them. He didn't even have to worry about caps a year ago. Just seemed like as good a place as any to store them. 

\--

Robert says “Welcome back, Angel,” like it’s nothing. Like Yves has only been out for a stroll these last three months, not laid up, radiation-riddled and dying. He must know, because on the radio, Yves is all Three-Dog ever talks about anymore. But it's still nice that Robert smiles at him as he enters the station. 

Yves worries his fingers over the straps of his pack. Vance is eating. Well, drinking, the open mouth of the blood pack between his lips. He doesn't notice Yves’ arrival. This time, Yves tells himself, he won't look away. He watches as the blood pack empties down Vance’s throat, bobbing as he swallows. Those same lips have been on Yves skin. As the pack drains, the plastic changes color from bright red to pale, frosted pink. When Vance says something to Holly, smiling, his teeth are stained.

“Hi, Vance, Holly…” Yves waves weakly, his feet planted firmly in place. 

Vance gets up to greet him. Yves expects a handshake, a pat on the back. But not the way Vance gathers him up in his arms, whispering into Yves hair that he's so relieved. Everyone expected the worst. Vance's arms tighten around him. Yves clutches to his long shirt sleeves. It's silly to think Vance would kiss him here, in front of everyone, but Yves wants to feel him.

“I'm tired,” Yves chokes out. He's not, well, maybe on some sort of cosmic level he is. But right now he just wants an excuse for Vance to take him to bed.

Kissing the side of Yves head, Vance says, “Take my room, of course.”

“Aren't you coming?” Yves voice isn't terribly loud, but Vance blanches at the suggestion. 

“You're tired. I'll be along for my things later.”

Huffing, Yves hoists his pack back onto his shoulder. There's barely anything in the pack, but he makes a show of carrying it. He can only hope one of Vance's things is him.


	7. Chapter 7

Yves hadn’t meant to fall asleep, not realizing he was actually tired from the trip. He's had less energy to spread around, since the purifier. Sometimes his bones still ache for no reason. 

But he can't help but feel that the Wasteland still needs him, so he can’t really rest. No, that's too prideful. They don't need him, but he can still make a difference. If only he weren't so very tired.

He wakes when the door creaks open, Vance trying to slip unnoticed inside, padding in with bare feet. But these months of living on the surface have made Yves wary, and he has a habit of waking at the slightest noise. Even if he knows he's safe.

Underground, he feels safest of all.

“Vance?” he asks, without opening his eyes. 

“Shh,” Vance hushes, “didn't mean to wake you.”

“Awake now,” Yves argues, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The sheet falls away, pooling at his waist.

“You've gotten thinner,” Vance observes, looking Yves over. It's true, but kind of scary to think about. Yves has so much trouble gaining weight. The coma didn't help, now he keeps trying to put it back on, but it won’t stick.

“Was sick,” Yves responds.

“That's what they say,” Vance looks away, going back to grabbing a shirt and fresh jeans from his open dresser drawer.

Yves curls his hands around the sheets, til his knuckles turn white as bone. He's paler now too. Not like they wheeled his cot out into the Citadel courtyard so he could get some sun while he slept. Right now, he's more that boy from the Vault than he has been for a long time.

“Come to bed, Vance.”

Vance shuts the dresser drawer. “I shouldn't.”

“You should,” Yves insists, pulling back the covers so Vance can slide in next to him.

Vance doesn’t deny him a second time. They settle their weights against each other, Yves tucking his head under Vance’s chin. He kisses at Vance’s throat, making his intentions clear.

“You could touch me?” Yves mumbles against Vance’s collarbone.

“Is that what you want?” But Vance’s hand already snakes down Yves’ back, latching his thumb in the elastic of Yves’ boxers, tugging them down just an inch. There’s just a hint of nail, scraping along Yves’ tailbone.

Yves nods into Vance’s chest, “Please.”

“Roll over, onto your back,” Vance instructs. “And take off your boxers.”

Yves breaks away, already cold. Worse when Vance tugs the blankets away, dropping them into a heap on the floor. Vance pulls off his shirt, adding it to the pile of fabric, before grabbing Yves’ ankles. 

“You should have someone,” Vance kisses the inside of Yves’ thigh, draping Yves’ legs so his knees sit over his shoulders. “As pure and good as you.”

In this position, Yves’ hips come up off the mattress, stretching his back and making his cock just out obscenely. It’s not painful, Vance supports his weight, wrapping his arms around to Yves’ back, helping him stay in place.

Leaning forward, Vance takes Yves into his mouth. He wraps his lips around the head of his cock, hollowing his cheeks and pressing down. Yves’ can’t help the strangled gasp ripped from his throat. It’s overwhelming at first, so different than his hand, even when he slicks it thoroughly with lubricant. It’s warmer, with a thin wetness, it’s consuming. 

Vance works him slowly at first, dragging lips over Yves’ sensitive skin and taking him deep enough that Yves’ cock hits the back of his throat, soft and yielding. Yves tries to hold on tightly to something to keep from thrashing, but the fitted sheet doesn’t give him much to grasp. He ends up grabbing onto his own hair, too scared to touch Vance and ruin the spell.

Making a noise low in his chest, Vance pulls back up, so only the tip of Yves’ cock rests against his tongue. The contrast of hot and cold against yves’ too flushed skin spins him dizzy. He clenches his muscles again when Vance sinks back down. This time, he comes, spilling into Vance’s mouth, bucking his hips, trying to get closer and away at the same time. 

Vance pulls off, lowering Yves’ hips back down onto the bed. He runs one hand over Yves’ stomach, up to his chest, dancing his fingers over Yves’ dark nipples. 

Yves feels sleepy-drunk with his tension gone. Trying to push himself up onto his elbows, he realizes he hasn’t moved. “I should...for you too.”

Vance shakes his head, his hands still moving over Yves’ skin. “You don’t have to.”

Yves’ closes his eyes, trying to work up the words from the back of his palate to the front of his lips, where Vance could actually understand him. “You could fuck me. If you want? I’d like it.”

Vance’s hand goes still over Yves’ pectoral muscle. “What makes you say that?”

For the first time, Vance sounds like he’s considering it. Like maybe he wants to bury his cock in Yves’ body. So that they could be joined together. Yves wants it so much he could scream. “Think about it...when I touch myself.”

“You think about being fucked?” 

Yves admits, “Think about you, fucking me.”

Vance’s hand moves again, from Yves’ chest, down the center of his sternum, “Onto your stomach.”

Scrambling to comply, Yves wills his body to work, turning from his back onto his stomach. He stays up on all fours. There’s half a beat of shame, to expose himself like this with so little prompting. But he aches for this, he really does. He wants to know what Vance feels like inside of him. 

Vance stands up, dropping his boxers to the floor and reaching into his bedside table. Yves bites the inside of his mouth, until it feels quite raw. Then he bites the other side. 

Crouching behind Yves, Vance reaches around to grab one of the pillows, folding it in half and sticking it under Yves’ hips. He soothes, “Relax,” coaxing Yves to rest some of his weight on the pillow. “If you’re so wound up, it might hurt,” Vance pauses, “I might hurt you.”

Yves screws his eyes shut, “And if I want that?”

“Not this time,” Vance kisses the small of Yves’ back, just over his tailbone. 

Like this, Yves cannot see what Vance is doing, every touch carrying a sliver of surprise. Though he can make predictions, Yves can’t anticipate for certain what is next to come. Vance holds him, one arm wrapped around his waist, between the pillow and his skin. With his other hand, Vance pulls him apart. Yves expects his finger to dip inside, to stretch him, but instead Vance presses his tongue flat to Yves’ hole.

“Oh, God,” Yves pants against the sheets, “Vance…”

Vance licks him again from his tailbone down to his balls in one long, wet stripe, then returns to his hole. He focuses his attention, running his tongue against him, wetting him, opening Yves only slightly with gentle thrusts. 

Yves can’t help but roll his hips back, trying to eek out more pleasure. He feels himself grow hard again, his cock rubbing against the pillow under his hips.

“That’s it,” Vance says, “just like that.”

Groaning in frustration, Yves wants Vance back against him. But he wants so much more too. At Vance’s saliva dries against his rim, he feels the coldness creeping back in. 

“Please, please, please,” Yves chants, but he doesn’t know how much Vance catches, or how much of his pleas are lost to the mattress. 

This time Vance uses his fingers, slicked with oil. He dribbles some of it against the cleft of Yves’ ass. Yves hisses at the chill.

It’s just one finger at first, achingly dipping inside. Yves swears he can feel every knuckle as he takes Vance’s finger, every ridge of bone. This is it, he’s finally, finally getting what he wants. 

Vance pumps him slowly at first, then faster as Yves opens up to him. Once his finger glides smoothly, Vance adds a second, curling them until Yves sees sparks. His cock leaks against the pillowcase, too little friction and too much frustration. 

“That’s it,” Vance says, “don’t hold back. You can come.”

“But, I want…”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Vance asks.

“Yes,” Yves admits. 

“Then you should come,” Vance spears him harder this time, knocking against Yves prostate. He’s so, so close. But Yves is afraid if he comes, Vance won’t want to take him. And he wants to know what it feels like, to be so full of Vance’s cock that he forgets his name, that he can’t get out of bed tomorrow morning, that he remembers the feel of Vance’s slick cum inside him, running down his thighs.

Yves muffles his voice against the mattress, emptying onto the pillow. He feels spent and boneless. Completely vulnerable while Vance continues thrusting his fingers into him, until he feels too raw and wrenches his hips away. At least, as far as he can manage, Vance’s fingers sliding out.

“What about now?” Vance asks, “Do you still want me?”

“Yes,” Yves doesn’t hesitate.

He can hear Vance shift his weight, coming up onto his knees. The spongy head of his cock rests just at the rim of Yves’ hole. Vance wraps one hand around Yves’ hip, using the other to guide his cock inside.

Yves yields to him, his body mounting little resistance as Vance slides deeper, until his hips are flush against Yves’ ass. Yves feels wonderfully full, at the edge of too much. Not that Vance is too big, Yves has toys equally large, but because he’s been so thoroughly satisfied already. 

He stays soft while Vance fucks him, rocking their hips together. Vance keeps his hands wrapped around Yves, constricting, keeping him from moving away. Every time Vance’s cock hits inside him, part of Yves’ body wants to flee, because he’s so, so tired. But he also wants to be here, being swallowed up by Vance’s body, bracketing him to the bed.

Yves realizes he cannot move, he’s too tired and Vance holding him down with all his weight. His hands move from Yves’ waist to around his wrists, locking them in place against the mattress. There’s that flash again, the instinct to run, to be safe, but Yves tries to swallow it. He doesn’t really think Vance will hurt him, even as the tempo of his thrusts increases, the sound on skin on skin creeping into every corner of Vance’s tiny bedroom. Eating up all the air. 

Leaning over, Vance puts his mouth over the back of Yves’ neck, raking his tongue against unmarred flesh normally covered by Yves’ shaggy hair. He scrapes his teeth, just once, before whispering, “I want.”

Yves screws his eyes shut, “You can.”

Vance growls low against Yves neck before baring his teeth and biting down, hard enough to draw blood. Yves can feel it, how Vance laps at him. It hurts. It hurts so bad and he cannot move. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. But the pain starts to fade, in time, leveling out to a dull throb. Vance doesn’t bite him again. 

Yves realizes Vance has come, emptying inside of him while still licking at his neck. The grip around Yves’ wrists loosens, but he’s still in no condition to move. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Vance repeats, kissing into Yves’ hair. “I shouldn’t have. It was too...beastial of me. I’ve tried so hard to,” Vance chokes on his words, “I’m sorry.”

Yves lifts his hand to the back of his neck, running his fingers over the bite. He can feel the individual impressions of Vance’s teeth. He’s not really a vampire. Not like in story-books, with sharp incisors meant for piercing through flesh. His teeth are blunt, but he still bit hard enough to break skin. Yves hand comes away bloody.

“Bandages,” Yves mumbles, “we have to clean it.”

“Yes,” Vance climbs back out of bed.

“In my pack.” He doesn’t want Vance to leave the room. He’s still too overwhelmed by everything. 

Vance rummages through Yves’ bag, grabbing a stimpak, ointment, and bandages. 

“Not the stim,” Yves says. He needs that for when he’s really in trouble. Not when he just forgets the limits of his own body.

Vance is silent while he wipes down the wound, spreading ointment over it before taping down a swath of bandage. The only other option is wrapping all the way around Yves’ neck. This is better. “It will bruise, without the stim.”

“It’s alright,” Yves says, his voice still small.

When Vance finishes he asks, “Do you want me to leave?” He runs his fingers down Yves’ back, stopping above his tailbone. Yves can still feel the burn of Vance’s cock inside him, the wetness of his cum,

“No,” Yves doesn’t even know how he got that idea. He liked everything, except the bite. And he’d said yes at the time, not thinking about how painful or strange it would be. Only, he’d wanted to give Vance something in return. And he’d wanted to know what it was like. “Stay with me, please.”

Vance climbs back into bed. Yves manages to turn from his stomach to his side. It’ll be too painful to sleep on his back. He grabs Vance’s hand in his own, directing Vance to hold around his waist. “Like this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *jazz hands* it's been almost a year, but I'm back. Let me know if you're at all interested in this continuing, but I also feel like I left this at a standard ending point for a lot of fic. I could go either way.


End file.
